After all, there is no such thing as an ugly rich man.
“So, can you tell me a little bit more about this wedding?” he asked, jolting her back again. Getting a handle on her runaway thoughts while she was talking to Ian was going to be an important component of the mission, clearly.
“It’s a bit delicate,” Jane said, remembering that if he was a real creep, or completely toothless, or had a visible tic—well, a severe one anyway—that she wasn’t going to take him. So she couldn’t provide too many details in case she needed to pretend it had fallen through.
“It’s going to be a fairly high-end event, and it also has the honor of belonging to an ex of mine. I find myself quite between relationships at current, and your proposition intrigued me. Tell me, Ian, have you attended many formal events?”
“A few. Ma’s funeral was a big one, few other weddings…yeah, that’s probably it. I have a black suit. It’s kind of all-purpose, isn’t it?”
Though she doubted it was a “suitable” suit, Jane made a mental note of that as she trolled through the many, many Ian Brooks on the Internet.
He wasn’t the professor, clearly, and probably not the dead one either. Ideally, anyway. Oh, this one could be him—nope, never mind, that one lived in Birmingham.
In the absence of a convenient picture of Ian, she decided to broach her backup. “So I have an annual Christmas party, and I usually hire a neighbor boy to help with the decorating and food prep. Would you be interested in doing some of the work for me? I’d pay you, of course. And it would give us a chance to get to know each other a bit before the event. Since that is still a couple of months away, and all.”
Silence, followed by a cough. Then he spoke.
“Look, I know things on the Internet are always a little bit sketchy, but you seem just a little unbalanced, and I’m not—”
Hold the phones. Ian thought she was unbalanced? She wasn’t the one advertising her services in basically every department but sex on the Internet!
That niggly little voice popped up again, reminding her that she was the one hiring, but this time her annoyance squelched it.
“Excuse me?” she said, in her haughtiest, most blue-blooded, most Bostonian voice.
“Hey lady, I’m not trying to be rude, it’s just that your conversation is jumping all over the place here, and I just start to get the impression that you don’t really know what you’re after here, but I don’t think I’m it. So—”
So, no. She’d come this far already. If prostrating herself was what she must do, she’d grit her teeth and do it.
“Ian,” she tamed her voice into something more velvety, more accessible for a common guy. “I’m sorry. I suppose I’m a bit nervous. You see, I’ve never found myself in a position of needing to…hire an employee for a social function before. It’s rather difficult to decide just how one interviews for a process like this.”
There was silence on his end for a moment, and then she heard a sigh. Nailed it, she thought.
“If I’m being honest here,” and you damn well better be, Jane thought as he spoke, “I’m not exactly an expert myself. Maybe if I tell you a little more about me, it would put your mind at ease?”
“It would, actually.” And she meant it. Time enough to learn his life story, but for now just a few items that would make him seem more like a person and less like a big old catfish would be nice.
Just enough to narrow down his online identity and look at an image would be plenty.
“Okay, well…huh. It’s kind of weird to just monologue about yourself, you know what I mean? But, uh, my name is Ian Shane Brooks, and I’m a born-and-bred Southie.”
Her fingers were already flying over the keys. Here. Here he was.
“I was going to community college when Ma passed, so I moved back home to help out. My dad was a firefighter, but he got hurt pretty bad—back injury. So it made more sense for me to come help with the twins than to keep taking classes. I didn’t even know what I wanted to do, so I was just taking electives and wasting time and money anyway.
“The boys just started high school, though, and Dad’s dating pretty seriously, so I’m finding myself at loose ends. I can’t afford my old neighborhood anymore, not when I’m helping with the family house already, and splitting an apartment with two co-workers sucks. Pardon my language, Jane, but I’m fucking suffocating here.
“So I thought I’d try looking online. I just don’t want Dad knowing I’m hard up, it’d hurt his pride knowing I’m giving them most of my money, so I sort of already invented a girlfriend I said I’d be spending the holidays with.”
He wasn’t lying. Well, maybe to his dad, but not to Jane. Facebook and Instagram accounts that went back years attested to Ian Shane Brooks, his dad with a walker, two freckled and mischievous-looking baby brothers.
That wasn’t the problem. That wasn’t why it was suddenly hard to breathe.
The problem was that Ian Shane Brooks was the stranger she’d met on the docks a few months before—and he was even sexier in the well-lit photos than he’d been in the dim light on the pier.
Along with the perfectly symmetrical and perfectly Irish Colin Farrell face thing going on, he had arms and abs that looked like he lived in a gym (hello shirtless boating pics) and the obvious closeness he shared with his family was undeniably hot. Jane’s Christmas magazine was suddenly repurposed as a fan.
For her lady parts.
She couldn’t believe he was the same guy. What the hell were the odds? If she were a person who subscribed to the ideas of fate or magic, she might use this coincidence to preach to the non-believers.
But she wasn’t such a person. And she didn’t see a conversion happening anytime in the near future, reappearing stranger be damned.
Speaking of the stranger…
“Is…is that okay?” he was asking now, sounding sort of vulnerable despite the steady baritone, and she realized she’d been staring at his pictures and not responding at all.
Luckily, this time, she’d paid attention.
But how to respond? She wasn’t ready to tell him that she didn’t think he’d work out for this particular job—too unpolished and unemployed to show up Blake—though, he really did give the inconsiderate groom a run for his money in the hottie department. She’d tell him eventually, offer him the decorating work again, but for now, she stalled by telling her own story. A modified version of truth, anyway. After all, a story was nothing without a good editor.
“Thank you for your honesty, Ian. As I’ve said,” (multiple times now,) “I’m Jane Li Osborne, and I’m a Beacon Hill girl, for better or for worse. I was an only child, adopted, and my parents and my pet have all passed, so maybe for worse is the answer there. My parents were also onlies, so I don’t really—I’m basically it, I guess.”
Was this coming across whiny? She sincerely hoped not. Jane might be lonely, but she wasn’t whiny. And she wasn’t sad. Damn it. She wasn’t. Just the facts, was all.
“Long story short, I was dating someone I was serious about. And he was serious about me, too.”
He was, wasn’t he? Hadn’t Blake been serious, before his realization?
“He met someone else, unfortunately, while we were dating. They must have had quite the whirlwind courtship, because a mere two months later I am in possession of an engraved wedding invitation, and here I was still under the impression that it was rude to move on so quickly.”
Oh, no, she did sound pathetic. She really did. Crap.
“He sounds like a wicked jerk, if you don’t mind me saying, Jane.”
Well, she didn’t mind, but also her name on his tongue gave her ideas for other things she might want there.
She spread her legs just a bit so her makeshift fan could hit where it was most needed.
“We’ve all got exes,” he continued. “And we can’t let them see us single, or with people who aren’t an upgrade. Jane, I think I can be your man.”
Holy of holies, he understood completely
. And yet, the hated inner voice that liked to ruin all her fun popped back up and reminded her that a South Boston Irishman wasn’t necessarily an upgrade, especially one that was a college dropout with an accent so thick he sounded like he came straight from the March parade. Even if he did look like sex on wheels.
Everyone would know immediately that she’d just picked him up for the night.
Unless.
Unless.
They did have plenty of time until the wedding. And it wasn’t like Jane worked much. And it wasn’t like Ian’s worked enough. And it wasn’t like she didn’t have a lifelong understanding about Society.
So it was like that she could “fix” him. Pygmalion style.
Mentally, she started making a list. She’d have to work on his vowels, buy him some appropriate attire, create a fake job…she’d need lots of time to groom him. Good thing she’d thought to hire him for her Christmas needs.
This could actually work.
“Ian, I think you can be my man too.” Literally. But not really. Just pretend-like. “I wasn’t being crazy when I asked about the seasonal decorating. I think it could be a win-win for us. We get to know each other, and I don’t have to climb on a ladder. That was one question you didn’t really answer, though. Do you think you could help with that?”
“Well, what exactly are you looking for?”
“Let’s see. I need the lights strung.”
His heavy chuckle had her squirming in her chair.
“I am fairly certain I’d have no problems stringing your lights.”
Oh.
Oh.
She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “And I’d need some garlands hung.”
He didn’t miss a beat. “I’ve been told that I hang well.”
Funny, she’d just been thinking about that, as embarrassing as it was to admit, even to herself. But were they thinking about two different things? And were garlands even actually involved?
“Will you need your tree trimmed?” Ian asked now.
She still couldn’t tell if they were talking decorations or innuendo. She’d give him the whole truth this time, because the truth actually was the truth. Tree or not.
“I usually do the trimming myself. But it would be nice to have some help. Some places are hard to reach, and all.”
“I was concerned about that,” Ian said, in that deep rumble. “A proper tree requires a ladder, and if you aren’t interested in climbing up—”
“It’s going…down…that I’m more concerned with.” She hoped that was enough to keep him going. Jane had never talked dirty before on purpose, much less in code that may or may not even be dirty.
Just in case, though, she slid her panties off. It made her feel like she was the wicked one, having them off while she sat in her desk chair and fantasized about how Ian, um, hung.
“Oh, I have no problem going down.”
Where was that Christmas magazine fan?
“I can assure you, Jane,” every time he said her name she felt a little zing down to her core, “that I have never met a Christmas project that I couldn’t handle. It’s always been my favorite holiday, and I can help with everything from stuffing your stockings to sweeping your chimney. I’ve got this season under wraps.”
Sweet Santa on his sled, all she could think about was unwrapping him. Jane didn’t care if it was innuendo or not, she needed a few moments alone.
“Excellent.” She hoped he didn’t notice how breathless she was. “I’ll email you the address.” They settled on a date and time, then she hastily hung up to dive into her crisp cotton sheets and relive the conversation with visuals.
Afterward, though, that inner voice again. He was just trying for a paycheck, Jane. You hired him to pretend what you say is interesting.
It was true, it was true, and she’d do best to remember that. But wasn’t it okay to understand they were pretend feelings and still be turned on?
No, that way lies disappointment.
Jane could kick her inner voice right in the teeth for these hard truths. But what she couldn’t do was disavow it—because it was right.
Even if he was truly that compatible with her, she wasn’t going to actually date this guy.
Ian, sweet as he might be, couth as she could make him sound and act, would always be an illusion. He’d never be the guy she could and would eventually marry.
End of story.
So why did that idea make her eyes prick?
Four
It was the day after Thanksgiving—Black Friday, known for the extraordinary shopping deals. For Jane, who made all her Christmas purchases before Halloween, it was Decorating Day, though she had hit up Macy’s early that morning for some last minute trimmings.
More importantly, this year it was the day she and Ian had agreed to meet up. She’d wanted to get together sooner, but putting up even a string of lights before Thanksgiving was uncouth, as every true Christmas enthusiast knew, and that was the guise she’d used to lure the man to her house so many weeks before the event she’d hired him for.
When he, at last, rang the bell, she forced herself to take a deep breath and count to five before opening the door, so as not to appear too eager. Still, she couldn’t help the smile that erupted at the sight of him. Even after all the time she’d spent staring at his pictures online, she was startled by his rugged good looks the same way she was startled when she bit into a chocolate-covered cherry—she expected the candied fruit she found inside, and yet it always came as a surprise to her taste buds. A delightful surprise.
And so, Ian Brooks was a delightful surprise to her eyes.
It worked out to be a benefit for their first—er, second—encounter, as it was easier to pretend that she’d never seen him before. And she was definitely pretending that. No way was she admitting that she’d looked him up online, nor that she remembered him from a very brief moment in the dark more than two months previously.
If he were to bring it up, that would be another thing.
Then, to her surprise, he did. “Hey, it’s you,” he said, after they’d stood grinning at each other for several seconds. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?” His brow furrowed as he tried to place her.
How was it possible that his thinking face was even more alluring? She wondered suddenly what other expressions looked like on his features. How he looked when he was bored. When he worried. When he came.
Quickly, she tried to erase that last image from her mind, or at least to save it for a more appropriate time. “Uh, that’s right,” she said, confirming his recognition of her. That was the least she could do after she’d seen him so intimately. In her mind, but same diff.
“On the docks.”
“Yes, that’s where.” She hoped it seemed like this had only just occurred to her. Though an avid supporter of the arts, she’d never been good at dramatics.
“Huh.” Ian stood quiet for a beat, studying her with the same intensity she gave to a new harp piece. Carefully. Deliberately, as though searching out every blemish of her skin, every nuance to her expression. It made her uncomfortable.
It made her feel seen.
With a ragged intake of breath, she broke the moment. “Why don’t you come on in?”
She stepped aside to let him into her foyer, taking his coat from him and hanging it in the coat closet before leading him into her living room.
Ian’s eyes widened as he looked around the scene before him. “Wow. This is a lot of Christmas decorations.”
He wasn’t wrong.
There were rather a lot of boxes and plastic totes strewn around the room. She’d been pulling out a few at a time from their various stored locations for the past several weeks to prepare for today. It looked crazier than it was when nothing was distributed.
Once all the boxes were unpacked, tasteful decorations would adorn every room in the house. Scented candles would be tucked into pine boughs, lights twinkling from the ceilings, and her entire servingware cabinet would soon be replac
ed with more seasonal dishes. It was her own personal wonderland, and she longed for it all year.
Fortunately, Ian’s remarks didn’t hold the judgment she might have expected. “There’s more in the attic that I’d like you to help bring down in a bit.”
“Impressive.” He seemed like he meant it. “Just point the way.”
“I’m really into the holiday.” She said as she led him deeper into her brownstone. She wasn’t sure why she sounded so apologetic. She had every right to love what she loved, and it wasn’t as if he were challenging her. She just didn’t like how her enthusiasm might construe neurosis. Or, worse, loneliness.
“You said that, didn’t you?” He stopped, seemingly distracted by an item sticking out of one of the storage crates. “Is this the garland you bought that night?”
“You have quite a good memory. That’s impressive.” Or at least it made it less strange how accurate her memory was about their brief encounter. “And yes. It is the one I bought that night. You will need to put up the matching garland outside, but first we should sort through all the items. We can talk about preparations for the date while we do.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
“Oh, but before that…” she paused. Wanting to get the most awkward part of their meet-up out of the way early, she’d left her pocketbook on the coffee table. “We should work out payment. Is this acceptable? I’ll give you the second installment when the gig is over.” She handed him the check she’d written out earlier, letting her fingers brush across his the same way as they had when she’d given him his check the last time.
His brows lifted when he noticed the amount she’d given him. “Uh, yes. This is quite acceptable.”
Good. As it should be. She’d written it for far more than she was sure he’d expected. Jane firmly believed that you got what you paid for, so she’d made sure she’d paid substantially. In return, she hoped he’d be amenable to all she required.
“I hoped we could get together at least once a week until the wedding,” she said now. Twice would be preferable, but they’d get there.
Holiday for Hire Page 3
